


answers you already know

by miraphora



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Cassian is a terrible spy, Drabble, F/M, Feelings, Foot Massage, Kissing, Sort of out of nowhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:52:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraphora/pseuds/miraphora
Summary: idk y'all. a scene that ended up going places i didn't expect. these two are so weird.





	answers you already know

**Author's Note:**

> idk y'all. a scene that ended up going places i didn't expect. these two are so weird.

Cassian tried to turn the spy off when he was on base. Kay had always been badgering him about his heart and stress levels and the damage cortisol could do to human bodies over time. _Even for an organic, human hormones are nightmarish._ His mind still could summon the sound of Kay’s voice. He wondered how long that would last, if he'd forget before he ever found another KX series to upload the backups into, if he'd _ever_ find another droid.

It hadn't taken him long at all to forget his mother's voice.

So he wasn’t a spy between meetings and missions. Which is perhaps why he didn't notice anything when the door to his quarters hissed open without the chirp that told him it hadn't been disturbed since he locked it that morning.

The instincts that finally kicked in, alerting him to a changed energy to the air in his quarters, went deeper than spy instincts. His reactions to Jyn Erso had always been on a visceral level that defied all logic and sense.

He caught the subtle glow of a datapad screen on the eerie planes and hollows of a round stubborn face out of the corner of his eye, before he keyed on the lights with a flat thump of his palm to the wall sensor. The lights came up slow, revealing the imposter, propped casually on his bunk, her back against the wall, knees drawn up as a prop for the datapad in her hands. 

_His_ datapad.

Exasperation spiked, quick and heated. “What--How did--You can’t just go around slicing your way into officer quarters!”

She arched one brow, not even deigning to glance up from the screen of the pad. “You should be grateful I left it in one piece. I’m never that careful. Normally a blaster bolt or a forced charge will do.”

“That’s not--” He took a breath, aware of how it hissed tellingly between his teeth. It was ridiculous how she could make him lose his head. He let the words die without finishing the thought, looking around the tiny room with a cautious once-over. Nothing _looked_ out of place, but…

“Don’t worry. You didn’t leave anything sensitive laying around.”

He jerked his head around to eye her narrowly. She was looking at him now, face impassive until that wry smirk dragged her lips to the side. 

“Of course I looked. Who do you think I am?”

“ _Chingaquedita_ ,” he muttered, but without heat. He rubbed a hand across his jaw, exasperation warring with amusement. “You’d need--a droid to crack the encryption of any files I have on there,” he said with a tip of his head toward the datapad, barely catching himself before uttering the name of which droid, exactly. It had been weeks, but it was still raw.

The searching way her eyes roved over his face told him she’d heard the catch. She was too deep under his skin, now especially, but before Scarif as well. “I was doing okay,” she replied evenly, her smirk still there, but gentler. 

He rolled his eyes and held out a hand. “Give me that.”

She leaned forward, her legs sliding flat on the bed, and put the pad in his hand without argument. There was nothing important on the screen, just news on the Holonet. She stayed there, hands propped on the bed and shoulders forward, eyes roaming his face and then straying around the room with affected disinterest.

“What are you even doing in here?” he asked, when she made no move to get up or to say anything. He tossed the pad lightly to the tiny ledge of a shelf at the end of the bunk. “Reading in the dark. You’ll hurt your eyes like that,” he muttered softly, mostly to himself, thinking-- _Ah, there’s mamá’s voice_.

Her smile widened, softened, reached her eyes. “Wouldn’t want that. Chirrut sort of has the market cornered on bad jokes. Don’t think he’d appreciate the competition.” She looked around again before he could respond. “I don’t know, Cassian. I’m not sure the private ‘fresher is worth it for this tiny box of a space. Though I suppose not having to carry a vibroblade into the shower with you is relaxing.”

It was a lot more words than she normally strung together when she wasn’t either delivering an impassioned speech or dressing him down for being one heartbeat and a bad decision from murdering her father. But it wasn’t an answer to his question. He settled on the end of the bunk, her feet pressing reflexively to his hip. He could feel her toes curl a bit, through her thick socks. At least she hadn’t put her boots on his bed.

“Jyn.” Her gaze stopped its wandering and returned to his face obligingly, as reflexively as her feet. One toe was brushing against his side, back and forth. He wasn’t sure she even realized she was doing it. 

“Hm?”

“What are you doing here?”

She shrugged carelessly, gaze wandering again. She was never this evasive with her eyes--she was the kind of liar who would stare you down with her untruths or her defiance. Her toe resumed its idle arc against his side and he shifted on the bunk, facing her in quarter profile and capturing the offending toes in one hand.

She went still, gaze swinging back to dart between his hand on her foot and his face. “What are you doing?”

“You won't answer me, so I've taken a prisoner,” he replied evenly, watching her intently. “I'm just going to have to employ more advanced interrogation techniques.”

She looked nonplussed. “Let go.” Her tone didn't know whether to be commanding or curious, and he read her carefully, his own expression neutral but edging towards amused. She wasn't serious--yet.

“I don't think so.” 

He shifted his hand, curling it around the top of her foot, and brushed his thumb lightly in an arc across the ball of her foot, feeling her toes twitch. Her eyes were on him with laser focus. He had no doubt she'd kick his teeth out if he crossed a line, but so far, she was in a holding pattern.

“Did you know there are over fifteen pressure points in the foot? It's strange, they can make you feel things in the oddest places.”

His thumb pressed in, steady and firm, rubbing in deep circles into her foot. Her whole body went still, a thready breath sucked into her lungs, her eyelids fluttering in reaction. He watched her face, the color fluctuating under the pale skin of her cheeks, her throat. After a moment she steadied herself, and he continued. 

He dragged pressure down the center line of her foot, slow, steady, and wet his lower lip unconsciously, at the abortive little hitch of her hips when he stopped just at the end of the arch into her heel, pulsing pressure in short, intense circles.

She gasped, flushing, and jerked her foot. “Stop. Cassian, stop.” 

He stopped immediately, tenderly stroking his palm down the top of her foot to her ankle. His fingers circled her, under the hem of her pants, and he looked up at her from under his lowered lashes. “Why are you here?” he repeated, his voice darker, softer than it had been. 

She dragged her eyes away from the gentle shackle of his curled fingers, met his searching gaze and tried to summon her usual defiance. He watched her reach for it, and the resignation when she came up short. 

She broke the silence, breaching up into it like coming up for air out of a deep lake, giving in to his tactics. “You said welcome home.”

His thumb stroked back and forth over the knob of her ankle bone as he considered how to respond. Had he thought she would take it to heart, at the time? He'd realized by then, the empty spaces her losses had left, desperate to be filled. They had felt a lot like his own empty spaces.

He was an accomplished liar, but he couldn't quite lie to himself that he hadn't meant it. That he hadn't entertained a future where they came back, and he could hold her against him in some moment that didn't involve him pulling her away from one of her demons or her ghosts.

Their silences were filled with things they wouldn't--couldn’t--say. The kind of silence with substance, weight. Silence you could drown in.

She didn't wait for him to break it. She pulled her ankle free, drawing her legs under herself. He let her go, waiting. He had climbed a tower, his body broken, to return to her side. She could cross this negligible distance and finish what he had started. If it was what she wanted. If this was why she was here.

If _he_ was what she wanted.

He held still, as her arms looped around his shoulders and her knees dug into the side of his thigh. She hung back just enough to study his face. They were always watching each other. Assessing.

“Why are you here?” he asked again, knowing that her answer this time would give him no easy out. His hands wanted to touch her again, and he reached out, slowly, carefully, curling his fingers around her waist. He wanted to drag her closer, into his lap, wanted to tuck his face against her neck and breathe her in.

Her lips curved wryly and she leaned in, closing the last safe distance that remained. “Why do you keep asking me questions you already know the answers to?”

“I don't--”

She pressed her mouth to his, warm and soft, but catching against him with the tender rough edge of chapped skin. Her tongue darted out, wet and soft against his lower lip, and he gripped her hip firmly, tilting his head to get a better angle on her full lips. Her breath escaped in a soft pant against his mouth and she tried to get closer but her knees and his legs were in the way. 

He made an impatient sound low in his throat and slipped his arm farther along her back, hand slipping up under her shirt hem. The heat of her skin under his hand was like a current running through him. He shuddered and tugged her half into his lap, or tried. There was a quick scramble as she unbalanced and narrowly avoided landing her knee in his lap instead. 

They broke apart with harsh breaths. Jyn shifted back on the bed, but quickly hit the end of the tether of his arm around her waist.

“Don't leave,” he said, harsh with a distress he couldn't catch before it escaped.

The look she shot him as she freed herself from his grasp was incredulous. “I'm just trying not to hurt you, idiot.”

“Leav--”

She grabbed his forearm and dragged him inexorably after her as she fell back on the bunk. “Hells, Cassian. I'm trying to get comfortable. Come here.” 

Whatever hesitance or uncertainty she'd been grappling with before was burning up in the face of his too-obvious need.

He let himself fall after her, bracing himself above her, surprised that she'd let him cage her in with his body. She kept trusting him, and it kept catching him off-guard. 

Her lips twitched. “Stop trying to get inside my head and kiss me, damnit.”

He huffed softly, almost a laugh, and swooped in, stealing caresses along her jaw and gently nipping her earlobe. “Are you going to try to order me around?”

“Only if you don't get on wi--” She cut off with a bitten little sound of pleasure, as he tenderly bit into her throat and suckled.

The hand she'd had on his arm slid upward, exploring his shoulder, and working to the nape of his neck where her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged lightly. “Better,” she murmured, amusement curling in her voice, rubbing up against the desire.

“Jyn.” He breathed her name against her throat, lapped into the hollow, tasted her, salt and sweat. “What do you want? How long--”

 _Forever_ , he thought. If they had died on that beach, their embrace would have been forever, the afterimage of their need burned into the firmament. He thought maybe she knew. He wasn't sure.

Her hands cradled his neck, thumbs resting over his pulse, stroking in counterpoint to his throbbing heartbeat. “Every chance,” she murmured, resolved. 

“Until the last is spent?” He trailed his mouth back up to her jaw, the corner of her lips, tasted her again. 

“And then I'll steal more.” She tilted her head, catching him in a deep, exploring press of lips, her tongue a hot foray, probing and stroking.

“Thief.” 

“Stop talking.”

It was an order he chose to follow.


End file.
